Pages

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Bathroom Monologue: Purple Happy Birthday

As you can plainly see, each of my hands holds a gun. Inside one of them is some festive confetti and a little purple flag that says ‘BANG.’ In the other is a .357 inch bullet that would take the horns off a bull. I can’t figure out which is which. I spray-painted them the same color – purple was all I had. They have about the same heft. Neither has a safety, since like the Flying Graysons, I don’t believe in playing with nets. Which magnum is which? The suspense is killing me. What about you? Since it’s your birthday, I’ll let you pick which I’m going to stick in your mug and fire. You’ve got sixty seconds. After that, I’m going to fire both. Now come on! Left or right? Left or right? Stop asking yourself if I’m right-handed. I tied my tie with my toes this morning, and you’ve got forty seconds. Left or right? Left or right? Come on! Quit looking at my hands and pick one! Be impulsive! Live a little before you get your head blown off. Don’t make me flip a coin. That’s another guy’s gimmick! Twenty seconds! Help a guy out here. I’m no good at picking birthday presents. I was going to go in with Riddler and some ex-cons on a cake, but that’s so impersonal and fattening. I want to lighten up your life. Ten seconds, by the way. I wanted to do something that would touch you on the inside. Real, deep down. Five. Four. Three. Two. Happy birthday, Mr. Wayne!